


take a breath (and let the rest come easy)

by harlequin87



Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Asexual Character, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5431703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequin87/pseuds/harlequin87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George needs Owen. He always has. He's just surprised to find that Owen needs him too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take a breath (and let the rest come easy)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'Dear Maria Count Me In' by All Time Low.
> 
> For the purposes of this story, Owen didn't go to Dubai and he played in the Newcastle game.
> 
> Set after Bath's loss to Northampton, 5/12/15.

"Owen, it's George. Listen . . . I know it's bad timing and you've got a game tomorrow and it's really inconvenient, but I can't - I can't trust myself to be alone tonight. Can I come to yours? I don't feel safe with anybody else."  
  
"Of course."

\--

It had been a while since George had sought refuge with Owen, a while since he had been so down, a while since the urge to cut had been so overwhelming. As he drove to Owen's London home, George had to bite his lip to keep himself from crying. The game against Northampton could have gone so differently if it had been Rhys on the field instead of him. At least Rhys didn't make rookie mistakes every time the pressure was on, at least Rhys was a consistent performer (and not consistenly bad like him), at least Rhys could pass a ball properly, at least . . .

By the time he reached his friend's house, George was visibly shaking. His hair was still wet from his post-match shower and his mind was still reeling from all the criticism: 'Barely amateur level', 'Not even the best 10 in the family', 'Too small to make an impact'. He stumbled towards the front door, only locking the car as an afterthought. Owen would make everything better. He always did.

George knocked lightly on the door. It opened almost immediately and Owen stepped outside. "Come in," he said. "It's cold." George smiled weakly and shuffled into the warmth. Owen carefully took his coat off and led him to the kitchen. They practically had a routine for these occasions now; a hot drink first, followed by a 'feelings' conversation, then playing with Owen's kitten (depending on location) and finally George sleeping wrapped up in Owen's arms.

Owen steered George to a chair and sat him down. "What would you like to drink? I've got hot chocolate, tea-"  
"Tea, please. I don't deserve hot chocolate." Owen frowned at the kettle. George was hunched over in his chair, like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. Owen quickly made the drink and put it on the table in front of George.  
"Okay, Georgie. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?" They'd been using the 1-10 method for years, after the school counsellor had suggested it.  
"An eight, I guess." Owen sucked in a breath. That was on par with being knocked out of the World Cup and losing the Premiership final - so, pretty bad.

"And why is it an eight . . ?" Owen trailed off awkwardly. He'd watched the game; he knew full well why it was an eight.  
"We lost, I missed so many kicks, that stupid pass that gave them a try, not making enough tackles, not working hard enough, not communicating well enough, letting down the team, disappointing the fans, disappointing my dad. Not being good enough."  
"Okay, then. How could you change these things?"  
George shrugged listlessly. "Train harder, practice more, live up to expectations . . . Be you, basically."

Owen winced. The 'you're better I don't deserve this' argument had been cropping up more and more lately. What George really needed was a win, but he couldn't give him that. "You're not me, George. You're creativity, flair, style - I'm just big and noisy. People want to see your rugby, George. It's beautiful." He paused. "Like you." The other man's head whipped up. This was an unscheduled deviation from the routine (although not an entirely unwelcome one, he had to admit).

"Really? You really think so?" Owen smiled uncertainly.  _In for a penny, in for a pound_ , he thought.  
"Absolutely. I love watching you play. It's so inventive, and damned attractive too." George's shoulders relaxed a little. The 'Oh, you're gay? Hey, me too!' conversation at the age of sixteen had been swiftly followed by the 'Yeah, I don't really do sex. As in, ever.' announcement from George. He was just grateful that Owen was respecting his boundaries, especially in his current state of mind.

"Anyway," Owen continued, leaning back in his chair, "your dad called me before you arrived to tell me to tell you to take a few days off. He needs you back by Thursday because Eddie is coming to practice on Friday, but you're free until then." George nodded mutely. His hands were wrapped tightly around the cold mug of tea and his knuckles were almost white. Owen took a quick glance at George and knew that the younger man was in danger of becoming lost in his thoughts again. "Come on, T-rex, let's go and find Gilbert. He's missed you." Owen prised the cup from George's grip and led him into the living room.

As usual, Gilbert was curled up, eyes closed, on the warm patch of carpet by the radiator. His fluffy ginger hair twitched slightly as he sensed their approach. "Hey, Gilbert." George crouched down next to the kitten. "Your daddy says you've missed me. I've missed you too." Gilbert's eyes flicked open at the sound of George's voice. He mewed gently and leapt onto George's knees. The rugby player smiled cautiously and scooped the cat up into his arms. Owen sat down on the sofa and patted the space next to him. As George nestled into Owen's side, Gilbert purred contentedly. If George was a cat, he would have purred too.

They stayed like that for at least half an hour. Owen's arm was secure around George's shoulders and George's head was resting on Owen's chest. Gilbert lay happily between them. George could almost feel himself backing away from the precipice that he had been teetering on. A few more days of this couldn't do him any harm. But, realistically, he knew that he was being selfish. Owen was leaving for Newcastle in the morning and he doubted that 'the Bath flyhalf has mental health problems and I help him cope' was a sufficient excuse for him to miss an entire match. 

But George tried to banish the negative thoughts and concentrate on the moment. Owen's baggy Wigan hoodie was soft on his skin, the smell of Owen surrounded him and Owen's tiny kitten was sleeping on their entwined legs. It was so nearly perfect, except -

George couldn't stop thinking about the expression on Owen's face after he'd said 'Beautiful. Like you.' It was a mix of awkwardness, tension and - unless he was reading the situation very wrong - hope. George took several measured breaths before exhaling an almost silent "Je t'aime." It was an inside joke from when George had done Owen's French homework every week before training, but it didn't seem funny now.

Owen froze for a split second. "George?" He asked hesitantly. "What . . ?" George twisted around to face him, dislodging an indignant Gilbert in the process.  
"Je t'aime." He repeated, stomach churning.  
Owen blinked, seemingly still in shock. "George . . . Je t'aime aussi." George smiled broadly and pressed his face into Owen's neck. "Depuis quand?" Owen asked.  
"Depuis j'ai douze, treize ans . . . Je ne sais pas." George replied. The churning in his stomach has been replaced by an excited fizzing sensation. He felt like he could float.

Owen squeezed him tightly before standing up. "I need to let Gilbert out," he said apologetically, "but I'll be back in a minute." George nodded and tried to keep his cool. He didn't want to scare Owen off with any unexpected overtures of love, so a simple 'Je t'aime' fitted the bill nicely. Owen came back with the cat a few seconds later. "Do you want to, erm, go to bed now?" Owen asked, voice cracking. "Not to, you know, do anything, but just like normal, you know?"  
"Sure." George smiled and hugged Owen. 

They went up to Owen's bedroom and got ready for bed. George returned from brushing his teeth to find Owen hovering anxiously by the bed. "What's wrong, Owen."  
"Nothing, really, I mean, well . . . I don't want to freak you out by getting too close that we're, you know . . ." He babbled nervously.   
"Owen, it's fine. You're amazing at respecting my boundaries. Just keep doing what you're doing and we'll be find. Now, come here." Owen walked obediently round to George's side of the bed. George put his hands gently on the other man's trembling shoulders. "Je t'aime, remember? We're going to be great." Before he could lose his nerve, George reached up and carefully kissed Owen. It was gentle, reassuring and exactly what they both needed. They climbed into bed, Gilbert climbed on top of them and George turned out the light.

"Je t'aime."  
"Je t'aime aussi."


End file.
